


Four Bottles Of Beer, Three Bases To Run, And Not Enough Sanity To Get It All Done

by Emotionalsorbet



Category: Avengers
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, Domestic Avengers, Marvel - Freeform, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:26:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emotionalsorbet/pseuds/Emotionalsorbet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky should be top pick in the MLB, Stark hits a grand slam (sort of), and no one really likes a team with two assassins on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Bottles Of Beer, Three Bases To Run, And Not Enough Sanity To Get It All Done

"Oh, c'mon, Stark. Don't be such a killjoy. At least get up here and swing the bat once." Steve said, shouting from the pitcher's mound. The top part of his face was hidden in the shadow of his cap, but it was fairly easy to determine the rest of his features--he was chewing his gum obnoxiously, and smirking, probably.

Tony tried to excuse himself then, shaking his head as he stepped backward. However, and much to his dismay, the others weren't having much of the gesture.

"Listen, dropping out isn't an option. There's about what?--eleven of us? That's barely enough to cover all the bases, and being that Cap's the only one who can throw a decent pitch--"

"Basically, Stop being such a wuss." Rhodey was cutting Clint off then, coming to his friend's defense in record time. "We all agreed to play the game--no exceptions. Even the big guy stepped up to the plate."

Bruce nodded, shyly, waving his hand at the mention of his name. And _yeah_ , he thought, _that's because the man can actually hit the ball._

The teams had been decided earlier--that was, after much controversy concerning positions had been settled. An odd number of them had shown up to begin with, leaving little to no room for substitutes; it was a simple solution, though: they all had an obligation to participate, minus the sole person whom would be serving as a pitcher. It was nominations from that point forward, or rather, it was a competition of votes between Barnes and Rogers, which was later settled by a exhibition of practice throws; but being that the first of the candidates had nearly drilled a hole in the batting cage by sole means of a ball (give a guy a mechanical arm and he becomes a god at the sport, apparently), Rogers was promoted, secluded so that neither side could draft him; although his exemption did not account for the desired absence of dispute.

Captains were chosen on terms of whoever volunteered first: Pietro and Sam were first to call it, shouting out their names prior to the question being given a chance to be proposed. Nevertheless, and due to everyones' hopes to avoid the fatal match of Speedy Gonzales and Buchanan-- _bicep of steel_ \--Barnes, they weren't exactly consented with the task of deciding the following members in that order. Despite this, everyone had been distributed according to their abilities, which ultimately left Stark's team practically batting against the kings (and queen) of the outfield. Sure, Tony was in a lineup with Bucky and Thor, but they couldn't suffice for the entirety of the team through solely their own actions, especially when the quickest opposing player was stationed center field.

Steve was killing it as well, throwing with perfect accuracy each time he performed the whole unnecessary ordeal that most professionals carry out prior to their own execution of the play. It was quite amusing to watch him, Tony would admit, observing as he continued to obtain three outs each time one of them would actually succeed in sending the ball somewhere other than the outside of the foul lines. Overall, Steve and Pietro appeared to be in an alliance--a pitch would be thrown, someone would try at it, and Pietro would have the goddamned ball in his hands before anyone could even blink.

"Alright," Tony gave in, "I'll swing. Once, and only once--but I want the kid off the field. You could stand there if you'd like, just don't pull any of that Roadrunner voodoo. _Capisce_?"

"You have my word." Pietro saluted, an all too smug look on his face.

Within seconds, Sam was handing the bat to him, nodding as if he hadn't a doubt of Tony failing, but it was quite clear of the uncertainty that filled the atmosphere. He himself wasn't positive of the abilities he was expected to display, and yet, everyone around him was whistling, chanting out praises as he turned to face Cap.

Clint was running to come up beside him, adjusting his stance to be more accurate. "Line it up--no, like this. Yeah, you've got it."

"Get out of here," Tony was slapping his hand away, "I know how to a hold a damn bat, for Christ's sake."

"Do you, now? If you hold it the same way you judge your distance from the plate, I'm gonna have to beg to differ."

"I swear to--"

"How much did you have to drink? Maybe it is best if you just sit out."

He was set to protest, to state some completely counterfeit explanation as to why the base was a good extra foot in front of him, though, and before he had the chance, Natasha was chiming in from third base. "He downed a beer before the first inning even started, but hell if I'm going to be the one to stop a partially intoxicated Stark from making a fool of himself."

"Hey, it was only half, and your pal over here finished it."

The words had done him wonders, sending Clint twenty steps backward in retreat. Tony was alone then, squinting in attempt to catch sight of the object he was supposed to be hitting far out past second. Quite clearly, he could distinguish the shape of the mitt in Steve's left hand, along with the outline of the illuminated object in his right. With his feet shoulder width apart and his fingertips wrapped around the very edge of the metal, "I'm good--I'm good, right?"

"You good?" Cap was shouting back to him, switching his grip on the ball as he moved to fix the front of his hat.

"Slow it down for him. Don't curve it, yeah?" Bucky was against the fence, arms crossed over his chest, "Not so sure he can handle that much at the moment."

"Well pardon me if I don't have super strength built into my freaking skeleton, Barnes."

"Put on the suit, then. That would make for an interesting play, don't you think?"

"I'm not going to put on the suit for the sole purpose of hitting a home run. I can do that whenever I please."

"I see."

Everyone seemed to be watching him, eyes scanning his face out of pure fascination. "Drop the expertise to it. Maybe try one arm behind the back, might be easier to hit then. Still challenging, but simpler."

Sam was smiling at the comment, clapping Thor on the shoulder in praise. Tony turned sharply on his heel, dropping the bat in order to do so. "Excuse me--last time I checked, Mr. Watch-how-you-speak-of-my-homicidal-brother, kicking down a fellow teammate is in fact not the correct way to go."

"One arm behind my back," Steve smiled, "I can do that. Sound good, Tony?"

"You're joking, right? That's not fair treatment--Banner got the full out experience, and he hasn't any history in this stuff greater than my own."

"Hear that, Cap? Tony wants the full experience." Natasha's voice was back, debuting with as much charm as ever.

"Think he's a little jealous of Bruce." Clint was joining in on the remark, and, God, maybe they should've separated that pair rather than the duo they originally planned to divide. "Got two men after you, now. Gonna have to choose one sooner or later."

"Right. So," a small blush tinted his cheeks, "no holding back? You're sure?"

"Hit me."

A moment or two passed and then Cap was stepping forward, mimicking the throw he'd delivered several times before. Tony swung at it, arms driving the bat forward. a satisfying sound resulted, sending the pitch rolling toward first.

"You don't all really expect me to run this whole thing, do you?"

"It wouldn't be called baseball if we didn't."

Everyones voices grew louder, chanting more prominently, and--

" _Barton, touch that ball and you're a dead man_!"


End file.
